


The Problems of Your Future

by hamish_adler_holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, F/M, Gets a bit graphic, M/M, Pining John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamish_adler_holmes/pseuds/hamish_adler_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S3, and my wild predictions for what I want S4 to be.  I don't want poor John to lose everything x</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to the glorious Kate for reading all my stuff and marrying me on Twitter, this work is dedicated to her because she's amazing. She came up with the title, she deserves a cookie.

Of course I had known that she would be this way.  Deep down, I always knew she was a bit...different.  Not that I was going to complain.  After Sherlock, I needed something, someone.  Not that we were involved, but life was so quiet now.  Like he said, I guess I just needed something a bit dangerous.  

And I got what I wanted.  

And now, of course, everything has gone to hell, because why would it not?  It's just my luck. 

I lose everything.

\--

The baby is gorgeous.  It was a boy, and he looks so much like her.  His eyes are gorgeous, and he isn't loud.  He sleeps a lot, which is to be expected.  I love looking at his face, his little hands curled into my jumper or tugging at locks of Mary's hair. 

So innocent.  He doesn't know what type of world we brought him into.

\--

Mary's ill.

\--

They don't think she's going to pull through.  They can't even tell me exactly what's wrong, just that she only has a few weeks left.  What did I do to deserve this?  I want to be gone, I want to not exist, but I have to.  For the baby, for Mary.  

\--

Mary died today.  I can't feel my hands.  My ring is burning me, it's there glowing and winking at me and it's so cruel and I want to take it off but I know I can't.  Not yet, maybe not ever.

\--

The funeral was gorgeous.  Course, it was only attended by a few people.  Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, Lestrade, and I all stood round the grave, the baby safe with Mrs. Turner from next door.  I almost can't bear to look at the child now, he looks so like her.  But I know I need to.  It's all I have left.

\--

Sherlock is worried about me, I can tell.  He gets so strange when he's worried.  He's been walking back and forth in front of my door all night, and I know he wants to come check on me, but I can't be bothered to get out of bed.  If I stay here, I don't have to face the truth.  That Mary lied to me, she broke me, and then she left me, leaving me even more broken than before.  I can't hate her, though.  I tried, I really did.  For a while I thought I  _did_ hate her.  But that was gone as the day the child was due got closer.  Sherlock still doesn't--didn't trust her, though I suppose that's warranted.  She did shoot him.

Even with the shooting, the lies, I can't breathe for missing her.  She saved me when Sherlock didn't, and she kept me going.  When the truth came out, she needed me and I wasn't there for her and I will never forgive myself.

\--

I haven't eaten in a few days.  I understand now how Sherlock does this.  I don't feel the need to move, to breathe, to function.  I know I look a mess and Sherlock practically sleeps outside my door now.  I'll come out soon enough.  I just need to sleep.

I hear the baby crying at night from Mrs. Hudson's flat and I hate it, hate the child so much and I know it's wrong.  He's mine and he should be with me.  His mother is dead, and his father...

His father is broken.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys here goes. I apologize in advance for bad writing bc I just had math class and lets just say there's a reason I'm a history major.

I wake up to the sound of my door slamming open.

Sherlock stands there, lit from behind like some commanding angel, and I can't move.  But when he walks to my bedside, his steps are hesitant.  He reaches out as if he wants to touch my shoulder, but he stops himself just short and folds his hands behind his back.

"John," he starts, the clears this throat.  "I think we need to talk."

"About?" my voice cracks, thick from not being used for days.

He gives me a wary look and bites his lower lip.  "You know, John.  We need to talk about Ma-we need to talk about her and what you're going to do now."  I start to talk, but he silences me with a wave of his hand.  "I know, you aren't good at this, and God knows I won't necessarily enjoy this either.  But it needs to be done, John.  You can't just stay here, laying in bed and being sad when you've got a child to look after." 

His voice sounds sad, when he talks about the baby.  "How is he?"

He shrugs.  "He's doing well.  As well as a newborn can without a parent.  He needs you, John, and I think you need him as well."  He sits on the edge of my bed, his hands clasped in front of him now.  "Alright, John.  Start."

I take a deep breath.  "I don't know where to begin, Sherlock.  My life has collapsed around me and I'm standing here trying to patch it all together and it's too much, I can't do this."  I put my head in my hands, trying to hide myself.  I'm ashamed of how I'm falling apart, of how weak I am right now.  "I don't know what to do, Sherlock.  I honestly don't.  I want to get out of bed and make tea and play with my son but I don't know how to go about it.  I wake up and reach to the other side of the bed looking for her, and she isn't there.  The other side is always cold and the bed seems enormous without her.  I try and ignore it, but the emptiness somehow wakes me up.  The sound of her breathing, it used to send me off, and now without it I can hardly dream.  I lay on my back and I try, believe me, I try.  I just..."  I shake my head and look away, into the light.  I refuse to break down in front of him.

He squints at me, his eyes calculating.  Sherlock never was good with feelings, and I have quite a few right now, which I'm sure he's trying to sort through with numbers and chemical compounds.  I wish it were that easy.

I sigh and lean back against the headboard.  "Listen, Sherlock, this isn't something you can deduce away.  They're feelings, they hurt, they're going to stay and they are going to leave scars."  His hand unconsciously goes to his chest, where I know the small scar from the shot is.  My heart jerks, and I want to reach out and put my hand over his.  No matter how much pain I'm in, I always want him happy.  The pain he went through when I thought he was gone...

I saw them one day, the scars on his back.  He was changing and I walked into his room, and his back was covered in them.  Wicked lines, sharp and red, in layers across the pale skin, and my breathing stopped.  He turned and saw me but said nothing, his eyes conveying all his apologies.  Of course he was apologizing.  He'd been doing a lot of that since he came back, and he apologized so many times when Mary was ill that I threatened to tape his mouth shut.  I don't want pity.

"John..." he stared hard at me, still working the numbers in his head.  "Just talk to me.  Pretend I'm your therapist, your old friend, whatever you need.  I know you think love is a foreign idea to me, but I have felt it before.  I know the pain of lost love, and I know the pain of getting through it.  So,  _please,_ John.  For me, for you, for the baby.  Just talk to me."  His eyes are wide and pleading, and his hands shake slightly.  I've never seen him this way before.

"I just don't know what to say.  I'm sad.  I'm really, really sad and I don't want to breathe or eat or talk to anyone.  I don't want to see the baby because he reminds me of her, and because he will never know who his mother was.  Hell,  _I_ hardly knew who his mother was."  I wince and take a deep breath before going on.  "I don't want him in a world of pain like I am, Sherlock.  I don't want him to recognize me only by the sad look on my face.  I can't see him yet, not like this."  I wave my hands at myself, and I know what he sees.  A small man, wearing week old clothes.  I've got the starts of a beard, and my hair is an unwashed mess.  

"No, John, you know what I meant."

"I can't , Sherlock."

"Yes, you can.  Just get it out."

_"There's stuff that you wanted to say, but didn't.  Say it now."_

_"No.  Sorry.  I can't."_

The words float back from when I was sitting in Ella's office, the rain pounding the windows and my hand tensing up as I tried not to break down.  Sherlock had been dead, and I was broken then as well.  Holding back.

"Sherlock...you left me.  And when you left me, Mary was there and she helped me.  She had lost her parents, and she told me she too had lost a friend.  Course, the friend but was probably a lie.  I know her parents were really gone.  That's the thing, though, that's why I couldn't hate her after everything she did.  Because mixed into all those lies, those horrible secrets, there was some truth.  I think she really loved me; maybe not at first, but I think she grew to."  I can feel a tightness in my throat and I know the tears are coming.  "I know what she did was wrong and I should hate her, but I did love her.  I do.  Did."  A tear escapes and that's all it takes.  I can't breathe all of a sudden, and I'm hunched forward in my bed, my arms wrapped around me like it's going to keep me whole.  

Sherlock touches my shoulder lightly, then runs a hand across my face, wiping some of the tears.  I look up at him, shocked, and he worries at his lower lip for a moment before pulling me to him awkwardly.  It's a strange embrace, and I'm folded almost uncomfortably but this is what I needed.  He holds me as I cry, my chest aching and my throat sore, for what seems like hours.  He never says a word, just holds me.  

Downstairs, I hear the baby cry, as if he knows I am too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The transcript of the episode came from this wonderful woman [here](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/30648.html)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I hope you guys are enjoying this. It's so hard to write a soft Sherlock without making him seriously OOC so bear with me as I work my way through that. This is the last chapter I have already planned out, so after this one the updates may take more time bc college but I do have a sticky note reminding me to write above my desk so. Thanks x

It's been a few days since my breakdown.  Now, Sherlock and I are on the way to see Harry.  Her and Clara are back together, it's wonderful.  But we're going to talk to them about giving up my son, and...well.

"John?" Sherlock's voice interrupts my staring out the window.  I turn to him and smile a bit.

"Yes?"

"You never told anyone the name of the child.  Even when Mary wasn't ill, you still just called him 'the baby' in front of us.  What's his name?"

I look down at my hands, gripped tight to my knees.  "I can't, Sherlock.  He's going to Harry and Clara, and they're going to give him a name his own.  So I don't want that in my head, or his, even if he can't remember it."  I smile weakly at him, and he shrugs before turning away again.  I let out a breath and turn away again, my face flushing.  Why can I not tell him the name?  It's not like I have need to be embarrassed.  I will have to tell him soon, though, or he'll find out.  I'll walk in on him stood there with the child's birth certificate, the same way he found out my middle name was Hamish.

"It's middle name is James." I say, not turning to face him.  I feel his stare on the back of my head but I still don't turn, and he just grunts and continues on ignoring me.  

\--

We pull up to Harry and Clara's house, and I turn to Mrs. Hudson, who's holding the baby in the back seat.  "Can I hold him?"  She nods, passing him to me, and I cradle him against my chest.  "Little Watson.  You're going to be very happy here, your mommies are two wonderful women.  I'll come see you as often as I can, yeah?  It's going to be tough for me to have you around, what with my work.  So...be happy, little baby.  Be amazing."  I press a kiss to his forehead, Sherlock ignoring me and pointedly staring out the window, trying to give me a moment of privacy.

"Ready?" he asks, after a beat of silence.

I nod, stepping out of the car, holding the baby tight against me to protect him from the harsh wind.  He's wrapped in multiple blankets, only a small bit of his face sticking out, but I curl myself around him nonetheless.  I move quickly into the shelter of the porch, and Sherlock raps on the door.  It's opened in seconds, Harry's face peeping around the corner.  "John!" she shouts, moving to hug me, arching her body around the baby.  She makes a cooing noise, toying with the hand that's snuck out from the cocoon of blankets.

"Harry, let them inside!" a voice calls from the kitchen.

"Oh!  Sorry about that, boys.  And hello, Mrs. Hudson."  She ushers us inside, and we stand crowded into the doorway until another prompt from Clara has her pushing us into the living room.  I sit down in a small chair, not even bothering to remove my coat.  I want to leave as soon as she had the boy, or I'll change my mind.

"Do you all want some tea?" she asks, gesturing to the kitchen.  I shake my head no, then take a deep breath.

"Listen, Harry.  I will come see him as often as I can, okay?"  She nods, her eyes wide.  "And you can name him.  His middle name is James, that's all I'm asking you to keep."

"And Watson, of course." she says, smiling a bit before standing and moving tentatively towards me.  "Can I hold him?"

I nod, then stand and pass him over.  She cradles him to her chest, bouncing him a bit and making soft noises.  He opens his eyes and blinks up at her, then turns to me.  For a moment, it's like he's got actual control over himself and he seems to reach towards me from underneath the blankets, but the moment passes and he's looking up at Harry again.  

Clara comes up from behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning her head on Harry's shoulder so she can look at the baby.  "What are we gonna name him?" she asks, rubbing small circles into Harry's back.

Harry tilts her head to the side, thinking.  "I honestly don't know.  Eric, after your brother?"  Clara's face goes sad for a moment, then she nods and touches the baby gently.  "Eric."

"Eric James Watson."  Harry smiles widely and turns, pressing a chaste kiss to Clara's lips.  They look so happy there, and it burns me.  Jealousy flares up, hot and painful, and I clear my throat.  I realize I'm standing at attention, my hands at my sides and my shoulders back.  I nod once and turn on one heel, walking quickly out of the room.  When I get outside, I move quicker, practically running to the car.  I lean against it, my chest heaving as if I've run a mile.  I hear a soft step behind me, and I close my eyes.  "Mrs. Hudson, I appreciate it, but please.  Not now."

"John."  I whip around to see Sherlock there, bundled in his big coat and scarf.  He's squinting at me again, the numbers written on his face as he tries to think of something to say.  "It's okay."  He sounds almost like he's asking me if it will be okay, but I understand.  He's working on this, these feelings.  I smile and reach for his arm, putting a hand at the crook of his elbow. 

"Thank you, Sherlock.  Really."  I clear my throat and look down.  "Can we go?"  He nods and opens the door for me, and I climb in numbly.  

"Just a moment."  He jogs to the house and steps in, and I can hear him shouting to Mrs. Hudson.  After a minute, he trots back, shaking his head, and slides into the drivers seat.  "She's going to stay a bit and get a ride home from Clara."  He backs down the driveway, then speeds off down the road.  We ride in silence for a while, with me leaning my head on the window.  I don't want to turn, because as soon as I do I see the baby seat in the back.  We should have given it to them, but I think Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson left it there in hopes of me having the child back again.  

I sigh, my breath fogging the window.  "This is such shit."  I don't really mean to say it aloud, and it floats in the silence.  

Sherlock turns to me, and I have to face forwards to keep an eye on the road.  "John, I am sorry.  I wish this wasn't happening, but it is.  And you need to get through it.  For the baby, yes, but mostly for yourself.  You're depressed, and it's going to take a while to adjust to everything that's happened to you, but..." he turns back to the road, and I turn to stare at him.  "You can do this."  He smiles at me before facing forward again, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

I stare at him for a moment longer, just looking.  He stares ahead at the road and seems to not notice me, and his finger taps on the wheel in time to the music floating from the stereo.  I turn it up a bit, and soon I realize I'm tapping my foot in time as well.  "What is this?" I ask, turning it up louder.

Sherlock smiles.  "It's Muse.  Map of the Problematique, one of my favorites."  He hums along as the singers voice goes higher, the piano and guitar merging together perfectly.  I stare out the window again.  The car is warm, I can hear Sherlock's soft humming, and for some reason, the moment feels perfect.  In this moment, I know, I should tell him.  The baby's name his real name before he became Eric.

"His name was William."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name William is both for Sherlock and for William Herondale, the creation of Cassandra Clare who has made my laugh and cry, and the middle name James is for another one of her characters, James Carstairs, my absolute favorite fictional character in all the world. I have never cried harder over a fictional character as I have for my baby Jem.
> 
> Thanks again for reading x


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATE! This is your present and I'm sorry it's sad but you get the first kiss of the fic so. Enjoy, love.

The rest of the ride back to Baker Street was silent.  I bite my lip, wanting to say something.  Sherlock didn't react when I told him what I had named the baby, but his hand tightened on the wheel and I think I heard his breathing hitch a bit.  I can't help but wonder if I made a mistake in telling him.

When we get back to Baker Street, Sherlock throws himself onto the sofa and I stand in the living room for a moment, staring at his back, then move into my bedroom.  I haven't really slept in a while, since I keep waking up in the middle of the night hearing the baby-hearing Eric.  Within seconds, I'm asleep.

\--

_I'm standing in a big empty room.  It's cold, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself._

_"Hello?" I call, and my voice echoes back.  The room seems familiar, and I try to think where I am.  There doesn't seem to be anyone here, but the room also seems to stretch into a hallway.  I move to one of the doors, putting a hand on the doorknob.  It swings open under my touch, revealing the living room to 221B.  I step in, and it's much warmer than it was in the echo room.  The door closes behind me, and I glance around.  There's Sherlock, on the sofa like I left him.  But he's turned to face me, and he sits up when I see him.  He stands, moving towards me, his feet not making a sound on the floor as he gets closer._

_He stands inches away, his breath ghosting across my face, sending shivers down my spine.  His lips are parted, and I watch as his tongue goes across them.  "John," he mutters, his eyes flicking across my face.  "You named him William."_

_I swallow, my throat tight.  "Yes, of course."  I can't keep my eyes off his mouth.  "I...you're my best friend. Of course I named him for you."_

_At the words 'best friend', he hisses a bit.  "Don't.  I hate that."_

_"What?"_

_He sneers.  "Best friend.  That's not what I want-" he stops, his eyes closed, his breathing hard.  I tilt my head to one side, totally confused._

_"What do you want, Sherlock?"  I put one hand up, touching his cheek softly.  It's like I have no control over myself, but I don't mind.  He leans his head into my hand, and it's like all the tension leaves his body.  He presses closer to me, his hand going around my waist and dragging me hard against him.  I gasp a bit, my eyes on his mouth again._

_"Sherlock," I say, my voice breaking, and then his mouth is on mine._

_My head spins and my arms move up and around his neck, holding him close.  I'm kissing Sherlock Holmes.  Sherlock Holmes is making my head spin and my heart race and my stomach feels like it's somewhere around my feet and it's amazing.  He kisses me almost hungrily, each kiss deeper than the last.  I know I'm making noises against his mouth, and he's gasping loudly.  He  breaks away, breathing hard, and kisses my jaw and down my throat._

_I gasp at the feeling, and twist my hands into his curls.  I yank him back up, slamming our mouths together again, and he lets out a groan that sends shivers all up and down my body.  He pulls away again, his forehead pressed against mine, his pulse racing on his neck under my hand.  "John?" he says._

_"I'm here, Sherlock."_

_"No, John, you aren't."  I open my eyes and it's Mary I'm with.  Her skin is gray, her eyes glassy.  The pulse under my hand has stopped, and the flesh there is cold and clammy.  I jerk away, and she claws my skin as I fall back.  "You gave him away.  You gave our baby away!  Did you ever love me?"_

_"Mary, of course I--of course I did!"   I scramble back, hitting the fireplace.  She moves after me, and it's like her feet don't even touch the ground.  She's floating closer, her eyes full of anger._

_"Don't bother," she spits.  "You want him!  Sherlock, you always wanted him, I was just a distraction!"  She slams her hand into my chest, and it feels like fire.  I scream, but she keeps pushing.  "You never loved me John, admit it."_

_"Mary, please."  I'm writhing under her hand, but she holds me tight._

_She laughs, a harsh sound, empty. Her hand slips into my skin, past my ribs, breaking them, and I feel her cold hand on my heart.  I gasp, black closing in around my vision. _"_ Oh, John.  We both know that isn't true." _

\--

I jerk awake in my bed, my heart pounding.  I'm sweating, and I feel lightheaded.  I lean over to the other side of the bed.  It's cold, and I can't breathe.  "Mary?" I call, leaning farther over the side, and I start to tip and it's too late to save myself.  I crash to the floor, my head hitting the ground.  I see stars and I close my eyes against them.  I curl onto my side, whimpering.  

The door slams open, hitting the wall hard.  It's Sherlock again, and he rushes into the room.  He leans over me, close to my face like in the dream.  I curl myself tighter, wrapping my arms around myself, and I hear a keening noise.  With a jolt, I realize it's me, but I can't seem to stop myself.

"John," he whispers, brushing my hair back from my sweaty forehead.  "John, breathe, okay?"  He lifts me, dropping me lightly onto the bed.  I pull a pillow to my chest, pushing my face into it.  I can't breathe.

The bed dips on the other side, and I feel Sherlock move closer.  He pulls me against him, and my eyes fly open.  His are inches from mine, and he looks at me, his gaze steady.

"John.  You need to breathe, okay?  Take a deep breath."  I try, but it isn't doing anything.  "Don't forget to let it out." he says, the unspoken word  _idiot_ floating out behind the statement.  I let all my air out in a rush and suddenly, I can breathe again.  I gasp loudly, my hands shaking.

"I just...nightmare." I say, holding the pillow tighter.  He's still beside me on the bed.  One hand reaches out slowly, touching my face softly.  It calms me, and I feel my eyes close.  He moves his hand to my hair and continues stroking it, his touch achingly gentle, something he would usually save for his violin.

"It's fine, John.  Just sleep."  His voice wraps around me, cocooning me in warmth.  I feel myself drifting off, his hand still moving in my hair.  I fade to sleep, and it's the best I've had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short little thing (it's horrible I'm sorry) while I get the details of the case worked out. I'm not very good at writing the cases, so I'm enlisting the help of the lovely Dawn, and we're working on it now. Enjoy x

I wake up, feeling more rested than I have in weeks.  I stretch, my eyes staying closed, and I hum happily before turning to bury my face in my pillows.  Only, when I turn, I get a face full of hair.  I jerk up, eyes flying open, and I see Sherlock spread out beside me.  He's taken up most of the bed, his arms and legs spread wide.  But when I lean over to look at his face, I can't help but smile.  His mouth is wide open, and he's making these little huffing noise.  He looks much younger, without the mask of stress, and I want to run my fingers through his curls.  I stop myself, leaning away and shaking my head.  What am I doing?

"John?" he says, voice thick.  I turn and smile down at him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you-hey!"  He pulls me down against him, one arm going around my waist and holding me tight against his chest.  I splutter a bit but I don't try and get away.  I sigh and turn to him.  "Can I help you?"

"You're warm."  He nuzzles against the back of my neck, sending chills down my spine.  For a moment, I swear I'm still dreaming, but I don't give it a second thought as I drift off again.

\--

The next time I wake up, the bed is empty.  I look over, and there's no trace Sherlock was ever there.  I bury my face in the pillow, and it smells like him.  That's about the only proof I have.  I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.  Was he ever really there?  Or am I just imagining things?  I throw and arm over my face and take a deep breath, then stand and make my way downstairs.  I don't bother changing from the clothes I fell asleep in.

I pad into the kitchen, looking over my shoulder into the living room.  Sherlock is laying on the sofa, his hands under his chin.  I smile as I make tea, pouring it into two mugs and carrying them carefully into the next room.  I set one down by the sofa, blowing on my fingers to cool them as I move to the table.  I haven't been keeping up with my blog, so it's about time for a new entry.  As soon as I log on, I see notifications popping up in the corner.  I open them and sift through the messages left there.

 _"Sorry for your loss, mate.  Call me whenever."_ from Mike.

 _"John, where have you been?  Call me, please."_ from Harry, along with a few other much like that.

I sigh and open a new entry.  My hands rest on the keys but I can't seem to think of what to say.  Usually, the words just flow.  This time, I'm hesitant.

_"Hello, everyone.  Sorry I went a bit AWOL.  Some things happening recently, haven't been able to update.  No cases on right now.  Thank you for your messages."_

I post it, not bothering to add more.  Thinking about it has brought my mood down.  I glance at Sherlock again, who hasn't moved.  I stand and go to him, wanting to ask about this morning.  But how?   _Hey, Sherlock, were you in my bed or was I dreaming?_

"John, if you're going to stand there at least do something interesting."  He opens one eye and stares up at me.  "I haven't had a case in weeks and I'm bored."  He sits up suddenly, his feet almost knocking into the mug beside him. He stares down at it before lifting it and downing it in one long gulp.  He exhales loudly and stands, brushing past me-I swear his hand grazes mine- and then he shuffles off to his bedroom, leaving me standing in his wake.  I look after him, confused.  Is he worried about what happened?  That now I'm going to push him away?  I go after him but I hear his door slam and I know that means he wants to be left well alone.

I sigh, looking around the flat.  There are papers everywhere, and strange liquids covering almost every surface.  Might as well clean, God knows Sherlock won't.

\--

 I'm halfway through mucking out the fridge when Sherlock slides in, dressed in everything but his shoes.  I raise an eyebrow as he skids around the flat in his socks, grabbing things from the counters and tucking them away in his pockets.

"A case, John, finally!"  He slides up to me, stopping himself by putting his hands on the fridge, on either side of my head.  He looks me in the eyes, his much too excited, and leans closer.  "A murder!"  He's gone almost as soon as he was there, skidding off down the hall.  I let out the breath I had been holding in, tossing down the rag in my hand and grabbing my shoes and coat.  Sherlock's phone, on the counter beside me, starts ringing.  

"Coming!" I hear him shout and he comes around the corner again at top speed, his hair flying, and he tries to skid to a stop and grab his phone, but he miscalculates and goes crashing to the floor.  The sight of him there, lying with his big coat pooled around him and his eyes wide in shock, is too much.  I start laughing, leaning over and bracing my hands on my knees.  He makes a face and stands, wincing, and takes the phone from the table.

"Yes, Lestrade, we're on the way.  Yes, he's coming."  He gives me a wary look and I'm still laughing, wiping my face.  The look sets me off again and I'm howling now, and I have to sink to the floor to keep myself from falling.  "You can hear him?   No, he isn't drunk.  I don't think so."  He leans close again, sniffing the air around me.  "No, not drunk, just stupid."  He says the last word loudly for my benefit and I stick my finger up at him.  He swats at it, not paying me full attention as I stand, still giggling.  He nods a few times before hanging up, then turns to glare at me.

"Not funny, John."

"Very funny, Sherlock."  

He looks me over once, his eyes lingering on my face, then pushes past, grabbing his shoes from the mantelpiece where he left them.  "Come on, John.  We've got a murder to see."

I sigh, still chuckling a bit.  He smirks at me and stalks towards the door, slamming it open and trotting down the stairs, humming to himself.  Mrs. Hudson comes out of her flat to see what all the noise is about.  She smiles when she sees me.

"Oh, John, it's so good to see you out again."

I stop and turn to talk, but as soon as I open my mouth Sherlock bellows, "Murder, John!" from the doorway and I smile at Mrs. Hudson.  She gives me a wink and pats my shoulder as I turn.  I trot to where Sherlock is bouncing impatiently, and pull the door closed as he goes to hail a cab.  I climb in, a smile on my face.

"I've missed this." I say, smiling at him as he climbs in beside me.  He stares at me again, and I see something strange flash across his face before he smiles back and nods, then turns and shouts an address to the driver.  I settle back into my seat, looking out the window and biting my lip to hide my ever growing smile.  Sherlock and I, back on a case.  The adrenaline, the rush I get from this.  It's exactly what I need.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm going to *attempt* to write a case chapter or two. The idea came from the ever lovely Dawn, thanks for the help x

We pull up to the scene, and I can feel Sherlock beside me, tense like a spring ready to explode.  The car has barely stopped when he leaps out, practically skipping over to Lestrade.  His step slows, though, as he approaches.  He turns to me, his mouth opening, then closes it and bites his lip.  Lestrade steps forward, holding a hand out to me.

"John...I don't know if you want this one."  I raise my eyebrow.

"Greg, I've seen plenty of twisted stuff.  This won't phase me."

He looks at me, his eyes sad, but he sighs and waves us on.  As we draw closer to the body, I see why.

She looks like Mary.

She's got short blonde hair, now dark and matted with blood.  She's even wearing a coat like the one Mary had, and she's about the same build.  I stop dead, staring at the body in front of me.  I hear Sherlock say something to me, his hand on my shoulder, and I take a deep breath.  I can do this.

I can't do this.

I shake my head to clear it, nodding at Sherlock. "I'm fine, Sherlock.  I can do this."  I step closer, and he sighs before circling the body.  He snaps on gloves, the sound harsh in the silence, and I wince.  He looks at me once more before crouching over the body.  He pokes and prods, lifting the edges of the coat and turning her face towards him, and the air hisses out of him as he jerks away.  Someone has beaten the woman, so badly that her face is just a mess of blood and flesh.  You can't even tell what she looks like.  My stomach lurches and for a moment, I think I'm going to be sick.

"John Watson?"

I spin around, looking into the face of a stranger.  He's tall, with dark hair and wide, brown eyes.  He looks at me like he's afraid I'm going to attack him.  He stands with his shoulders curled inward, like he's trying to hide, and he shuffles a bit, twisting his hands together in front of him.  He's a bit pathetic, to be honest, and I can't help but shoot him a small smile.  "That's me, yeah."

He reaches out a shaking hand.  "Sergeant Cross, sir.  And this, I presume, is Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock has materialized at my elbow, glaring at Cross.  "Yes.  What are you doing here?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade put me on the case.  I'm new to the Yard, see, but he thought I might be of help.  I've seen some pretty...dark stuff."  He looks down at his feet, his shoulders curling in even tighter.  He clears his throat and looks up at me.  "Anyways, I thought I should introduce myself."  He gives another shy smile, nods to Sherlock, then shuffles away.  I chuckle a bit, watching him go.

"How sweet." I say dryly, turning to Sherlock.  I almost run smack into him, since he hasn't moved.  He places a hand on the back of my neck and stares hard at me, his eyes squinting as he reads me.  He releases me a moment later but doesn't step back.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he asks, and he sounds almost concerned.

I nod, clearing my throat.  "I actually need this right now."  

He stares at me then nods again, then waves Lestrade over.

Lestrade trots over, then pats me awkwardly on the shoulder.  "Glad to see you back on, mate." He smiles, and I can't help but grin back.  "Now, here's what's going on.  This woman, we believe her to be Carolyn Hall.  She was kidnapped a few days back.  Of course, we can't be sure with her face...the way it is, but she's the right height.  The only thing wrong is the hair."

"What's wrong with her hair?" I ask, confused.

"It's the wrong color.  Carolyn Hall was a brunette, this woman's a blonde.  We're having forensics run her prints."  

Sherlock stares at the body, his tongue between his teeth.  He hums to himself a bit, nodding his head before turning on his heel and stalking off.  I sigh, shake my head at Lestrade, then go after him.  He waits for me on the curb, hailing a taxi.  His lips are moving, like he's talking to himself, so I don't say anything.  We're silent all the way back to the flat, and when we get there he throws himself down onto the sofa.

I can tell this is going to be another of those nights where nothing get's through to him, so I set some food on a plate near the arm of the sofa and go take a shower.  When I come out, the food is gone but he's back where he was before, thinking and muttering.  I set another plate of food and a glass of water beside him, and turn to leave.  After a moment of hesitation, I turn back and run a hand through his hair.  He doesn't stop muttering, but he sighs softly and his eyes shut.  I smile to myself, leaving him.  

I'm still smiling when I climb in bed, and still smiling when I fall asleep, my dreams full of my fingers in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringes* That was bad, I know. Stick with me and I promise it will get better mkay.


	7. Chapter 7

For the next few days, things are better.  Well, I say better, Sherlock would say dull.  I hear him up and pacing the room at all hours, and I leave plates of food, which he eats.  Of course, this means there are empty plates everywhere, some in danger of being stepped on, so I have to clean around him.  I'm carrying a stack of them, balanced precariously, when Sherlock's phone rings.  He shouts so loudly that I knock a few plates off.  They crash to the floor, shattering, while I shout.  Sherlock is yelling at me to shut up, and I can hear Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs to see what the fuss is.  

I hear Lestrade barking orders through the phone, and Sherlock falls silent.  He grunts something into the phone then hangs up, turning to me.

"There's been another."

\--

I'm more prepared for the corpse at this scene, but it's still a bit of a shock.   The same coat, the same blonde hair.  The face is bashed in as well.  I take a deep breath and step up to Lestrade.

"Morning, Greg.  What's her name?"

"Ashlea Parson.  She's very young, just starting uni.  She went missing from her room a few days back, her roommate called it in and said Ashlea was a model student, never missed a class or stayed out too late.  The occasional party, of course, but nothing unusual.  Not until she went missing."  He shakes his head, looking down at the girl.  "Poor thing."

I nod silently, not trusting myself to speak.  Whoever's doing this obviously has a type.  I see Sherlock standing over the body, and something in his face concerns me.  I nod to Greg and walk to him, my hand going to his arm.  "Sherlock?  What is it, what have you found out?"

He looks at me, his eyes wide.  "You.  It's always you, John Watson."

I'm lost.  "What are you on about?"

"They look like Mary.  Both of them.  The coat, the hair, it's even been dyed in some cases.  It's all for you, John."  He grabs my arm and drags me away.  Lestrade, deep in conversation with Sergeant Cross, calls out, and I raise a hand up helplessly.  Sherlock holds tight to my arm as he hails a cab, and shoves me in almost roughly.  "Oi!  What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"It's meant for you, John, why can you not see that?  Something's wrong, something is...off.  Why are they dressing them like her?   It's to get to you, obviously, but  _why?"_ He slams his hands against his forehead, gritting his teeth.

"Sherlock!  Calm down, it's fine, we'll get this worked out."  I grab his hands, holding them to his sides.  "Calm down, okay?"  He glares at me, his eyes wild for a moment before they close and he sags against me.  I wrap an arm around his shoulders, holding him in an awkward hug.  "Hey, it's fine.  I'm fine, I'm right here.  They can't touch me, not when-"

I stop myself, and he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.  "When what?"

I swallow, the sound loud in the silence of the cab.  "When you're with me, I'm invincible.  I feel indestructible."  He's staring at me and I don't think he's breathing.  I lean forward, shaking him a bit.  "You keep me safe, Sherlock.  After Mary, after everything that happened...I was lost.  And you brought me back."  I force him to look at me, my heart pounding.  "Its always you.  Sherlock Holmes, you keep me right."

 _It's always you.  John Watson, you keep me right._   

His words from my wedding echo back, and a new meaning forms.  Before I can think more, his mouth is on mine.

I gasp against him, my hands releasing his and going to his hair.  I almost moan as I dig my fingers into the curls, but I remember we're in the back of a cab.  I'm kissing Sherlock Holmes in the back of a cab.

And  _God,_ it's everything I could have hoped for.  His lips are soft, brushing against mine tentatively, while one of his hands goes up to cup the back of my neck.  I bite lightly on his lower lip, encouraging him, and he deepens the kiss.  I'm up against the door of the cab now, with him pressed completely against me.  My hands aren't in his hair anymore, they're all over him.  I want to touch everywhere, feel his heart beat and his pulse race.  He pulls away with a gasp.  His pupils are blown huge, his hair a tangled mess, his lips swollen.  I laugh, running a hand through his hair again to calm it, and I realize we've stopped outside the flat.  I toss some bills to the driver, not even paying attention to how much I throw, then take Sherlock's hand and now I'm the one dragging him.  I take him into the flat, practically holding him up by the time we get into the living room.  

When we get there, he turns, pushing me against the wall.  He kisses the corner of my mouth, my jaw, down my neck.  He's kissing softly, adding in a brush of teeth, and I feel my knees turn to jelly.  "Sherlock," I gasp, tugging his face back to mine.  I pull him in for a kiss, this one hotter and better, and they just keep going.  His tongue runs along my lower lip, and I groan.  He chuckles, his chest rumbling, and kisses my cheek, my forehead, my eyelids.  He leans his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.

"I have wanted to do that," he gasps, his hands rubbing up and down my arms.  "I have wanted to do that for so long, John."

I flush, my cheeks warming, and he puts his hand there, smiling.  I grin up at him, my heart feeling like it's going to burst.  I wrap my arms around his neck and crush him to me, suddenly feeling like I'm going to cry.  What's wrong with me?

"Thank you, Sherlock.  For everything."  I kiss the corner of his jaw and he laughs again.

"Thank you for letting me push you up against a wall." he says, sending me into a fit of laughter.  I kiss him once more, my heart swelling again and I can barely contain myself.  Sherlock's phone goes off, making us both jump.  We laugh a bit and he reaches into his pocket to get it.  "Lestrade?" he says, and his face stiffens.  He pulls away, and I frown at the loss of his weight.  "Of course."

"What is it?" I ask as he walks to the door.  I follow, full of questions.

"They've had a tip off.  They think they know when the killer is going to strike again, and where.  We have to go."

"Did Lestrade say we should?  Is he coming?"  I stop on the bottom step, my heart sinking.

"No, but we have to, John!"  He whirls, glaring up at me.  "A girl is going to die if we don't do this."  

I stare down at him, biting my lip.  "We've never done anything without backup.  What if something goes wrong?"  He looks at me for a moment before pulling my face down to his, crushing his mouth against mine in a hard kiss.  I pull back after a moment, gasping for air.

"The two of us against the rest of the world, John.  I'm going, whether you come with me or not."  He turns on his heel and bounds out the door, leaving it open wide behind him.  I take a deep breath and step out after him, pulling it shut behind me.


	8. Whoops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!

Wow that was a long break.

I could come up with loads of excuses but long story short, school was crazy and I got into new fandoms. I still love Sherlock, and I love writing these two, but it's hard to find inspiration from a fandom that goes dead every other year. And, of course, I'm just spacey and totally forgot about this fic. I've been searching for it on my laptop and _finally_ found it today, and I have everything written out plot-wise. Now just comes actually setting it into the story. Gah.

But I just wanted to make this chapter (I'll most likely delete later) to say that this story is  _not_ abandoned, and I'll try and make posting regular until it's finished.

 

-Elena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my [other AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kierenmonroe) to see why I left you all hanging.


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